


Girls Girls Girls

by BoomyMcBlasty



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/F, Gender Identity, Girls Kissing, Post-Time Skip, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 07:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomyMcBlasty/pseuds/BoomyMcBlasty
Summary: Marianne grimaces, sympathetically, before giving a good look at her costume. “Who are you going as?”“Loog, the King of Lions.”Marianne taps on her own jawline with a slight blush. “If I may ask…”Ingrid feels suddenly embarrassed. “Oh. That’s supposed to be a kiss from the Maiden of Wind.”Should she wash off the rouge? But that would smudge the powder that makes her jawline so sharp and defined...Or: Ingrid plays with gender and ends up either giving or receiving kisses from the other commanders of the Kingdom and Alliance.





	Girls Girls Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Azure Moon route; after the Alliance becomes part of the Kingdom, its commanders join Garreg Mach as well.

Even during the war, Mercedes’ room smells of lavender; the scent tickles Ingrid’s nose and mingles with the crisp aroma of freshly brewed mint tea. Ingrid gets lost in the intricate beauty of the white laces that adorn the drawer in front of her.

Mercedes takes her hand and lifts her arm with the softest of touches. “Almost done.”

Even armor fitting becomes a delicate affair with Mercedes. The gentleness of her movements as she secures the straps and adjusts the soft felt armor pieces makes Ingrid feel oddly out of place, yet delighted all the same. The novelty has become intimacy, something that she didn’t know she craved.

Ingrid steals a glance at the mirror resting on the laces. Mercedes did a wonderful job with her costume. The needlework on the felt is so ornate... it makes it the nicest thing Ingrid has ever worn. The armor is a perfect replica of Loog’s original, in soft felt and fur—perfect for a party with wine involved. It lacks the metal shine of proper armor, but Ingrid doesn’t mind that. It’s light on her body and it makes her feel good. She looks imposing, yet not threatening. 

Mercedes walks behind her and tugs gently at the white fur around her collar, making it sit nicely on her shoulders. “I still have time to stitch the Blaiddyd Crest on it, you know.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “Thank you, but…” His Majesty has been nothing but wonderful about her request of dressing up as his ancestor, going so far as to allow her to use his family’s Crest on the costume. Yet. “It feels wrong.”

She has no right to don the Crest of the Royal family, and no interest in ever doing so. She has seen it glow too many times above the mangled corpses of the Empire soldiers. 

Ingrid shudders at the memory.

Mercedes rests her chin on the fur collar, a soft weight on Ingrid’s shoulder. “You can’t forget the state he was in, can you?”

Will any of them ever manage to forget? Ingrid can still remember vividly His Majesty’s broken roars, she can still see him splinter bones and tear flesh without the aid of his lance.

“Hey…” Mercedes wraps her arms around her, dragging Ingrid away from the bloodsoaked battlefield in her mind. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Ingrid inhales deeply and closes her eyes. “Sometimes, when I see His Majesty approach me… I flinch. I think he noticed.”

Mercedes hums and rubs her face in the fur on Ingrid’s back. “Are you having doubts about your duty to him?”

“Never.” If anything, the war has showed her just how  _ right  _ knighthood is for her.

Mercedes parts from her and gestures at the tea. “What is it, then?”

Ingrid takes her cup and sits on the chair, followed by her friend. “It’s something that Dedue told me after Lord Rodrigue’s death.” Mercedes takes a sip. “He said that His Majesty has always been like  _ that _ . He had been hiding it for years before snapping at the end of our Academy days.”

Mercedes’ eyes lower on her cup. Her tone is soft and gentle, as usual, and she doesn’t hide her concern “Are you afraid you will break as well, like he did?”

Mercedes shares her struggles, the burden of a Crest that makes her worthy as long as she can marry and have children.

The steam rising from the cup tickles Ingrid’s cheeks, making them hot. “I don’t have the right to.”

“Everybody has secrets, you know.” Mercedes places her cup on the desk and leans in to rest a hand on Ingrid’s knee. “Even I do!” Her chuckle keeps the tone of the conversation light, even if Ingrid feels something akin to dread grip her heart.  _ Does she know? _ Does she know what Ingrid has never allowed herself to consider? “I won’t force you to share yours, mighty Loog.” The nickname makes Ingrid smile, just a little. “But know this: we all love you, and would hate to see you getting crushed by the burden that weighs on your shoulders.”

Ingrid finishes her tea, barely tasting it. Her people are starving, fleeing Galatea territory to beg in Fhirdiad; even her own father, the Count, needs to work the fields himself to have something to eat in the evening. Her dowry could save them all.

Has Mercedes guessed the reason Ingrid is so averse to marrying even someone like Sylvain, who would have her protect the border in his place and would find gratification outside of their shared bed?

“Today we celebrate, Ingrid, before marching on Enbarr.” Mercedes gives her a sweet smile. “ _ Allow yourself _ to celebrate.”

Ingrid, nods, absentmindedly, before Mercedes claps. “Goodness, I’m hogging you all for myself! Annie must be waiting for you.”

Mercedes definitely knows—and yet Ingrid doesn’t feel threatened by her. She’s her own worst enemy, she has always known that. 

“I’ll undergo the make-up trial, then.” She stands up, fixing the felt armor. “Thank you again for the costume, Mercedes. It’s wonderful.”

“Any time! You look rather dashing in it.” Mercedes stands as well and gets closer to hug her. Ingrid is not one for physical contact, but she has gotten used to it in her presence. “Now, emerge victorious from your fight with the devious witch of powder and rouges.”

Mercedes leaves a soft kiss on her cheek and Ingrid feels really close to stuttering her goodbye.

*

Annette opens the door of her room with a delighted squeal. “Ingrid! Loog, I mean! You look amazing!”

“Thank you.” Ingrid twirls to show off. “Mercedes went above and beyond with the costume.”

Several make-up palettes lie on the desk, together with an impressive collection of brushes and small wooden tubs of rouge. There’s no way all of that stuff is ending up on her face. How did Mercedes call her?  _ Devious witch of powders?  _ What an apt description.

“Come in, come in.” Annette closes the door behind her back.

Ingrid sits on the stool in the middle of the room. A knight doesn’t break her promises… but can still regret making them.

“You look like I’m about to cook you alive… relax!” Annette slides the hairpins from her hair and passes her a headband. Ingrid wears it without protesting. “You know, I wanted to do some bold eyes and a nude lip, but…” Annette takes a brush in her hand and squares her up. She’s already all about business. “They really wouldn’t fit with the costume. How do you feel about some light contouring?”

Ingrid knows what she’s referring to, kind of. “Sure?”

“I don’t want to make you look like a man, you know, but maybe I can enhance your natural features to make you into a fearsome warrior.”

Ingrid smiles. “Am I not a fearsome warrior already?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had you against me.” Annette flashes her a huge grin. “Just kidding! You’re the best commander we have.”

“Buttering me up, now?”   
“I would never!” Annette places the elongated handle of the brush against her cheek, measuring something. “Mmh... I want to make your cheekbones pop a bit more and give your lovely face a bit of a sharp feel.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. Just… don’t use too much stuff.”

Annette starts working with her array of brushes and powders, humming a tune. Ingrid’s face tickles, but she does her best to keep a neutral expression.

“Almost done~” sings Annette. That’s… quicker than what Ingrid remembered. After a few brush strokes on her hairline, Annette sets the tools on the desk and gives her a good look. “Yes, yes! Ravishing!” Satisfied with her work, she places a small mirror in Ingrid’s hands.

Her reflection stares at her, familiar yet foreign. Gone is the roundness of her face; her nose is sharper and her jawline well defined. And those cheekbones! Ingrid looks… seasoned. A small voice in her head tells her that, despite Annette’s best efforts , she looks  _ manlier _ , but that isn’t a bad thing.

“You know what would work wonders with this look?” Annette shows her a small tub. 

The herbal smell makes Ingrid curl her nose. “Isn’t that…”

She chuckles. “Felix’s hair balm. Don’t tell him I took it, or he will kill me!”

Ingrid feigns indignation. “You  _ took it _ instead of borrowing it?”

“He will never notice. Aaanyway~” Annette makes the headband slide off her head and smoothens Ingrid’s hair. “What do you say? Can I fix your bangs with this, give them a wind-tousled feel?”

Something inside of Ingrid moves and causes her chest to tighten. The costume, the make-up… they are all just for fun, right? There’s no harm in that.

Mercedes even told her to allow herself to celebrate.

“Sure.” Ingrid’s reply is shakier than she wants.

Annette dips her fingers in the balm. “So sticky…” She works her bangs quickly, using a minimal amount of the herbal concoction. “There. Mirror time!”

_ Dashing _ . Ingrid likes the look. “Wow…” It resembles Catherine, handsome without effort.

“I have a final touch in mind to make the look  _ memorable _ .” Annette grins, which is never a good sign. “A kiss from the Maiden of Wind.”

“They did kiss a lot in the tale…”

Annette grabs some of the rouge. “I know you can hold your own out there, but I feel bad for all the people whose hearts you’ll break at the party.” She paints her own lips of a lovely red. “All the trysts you’ll refuse!”

Ingrid chuckles. “Seal your promise to me, then, Maiden of Wind.”

“My Loog~ gladly!” Annette lowers her face and stamps a kiss on Ingrid’s jawline, staying in place to let the rouge transfer on the skin. The hand on Ingrid’s shoulder is small and gentle, and despite the innocence of the kiss, her heart still skips a beat. When Annette parts from her, she shows the result of her work with the mirror. 

_ What would her father say?  _ A spike of anxiety makes Ingrid clutch her chest. Count Galatea will not attend the party, it’s an expense the House can’t afford. He will not see her. The kiss feels searing hot on her skin.

“I will receive  _ many  _ questions for this.”

*

There is still time before the costume party. People from the village nearby flock to the monastery; hired help lured by an attractive hourly rate and the promise of free leftovers. A feast, in the middle of the war… to celebrate the unification of the Kingdom and the Alliance. A preemptive victory celebration before their final efforts, now that they’re all still alive.

Ingrid eyes the stables, longing. She would love nothing more than to show her costume to her pegasus, but felt armor is hardly appropriate around horses, and she doubts that the other nobles would appreciate the smell—so Ingrid keeps her distance.

The door of a stall opens and Marianne walks out, in her white holy armor, with Blutgang in its sheath. She notices Ingrid and walks over with a sweet smile. “Ingrid! Are you going to the costume party?”

Ingrid nods, feeling embarrassed about the bright red kiss mark on her jawline. “Are you not?”

“Margrave Edmund… my adoptive father will attend the party, of course, but I requested to be on patrol duty.”

Of course. They can’t let their guard down, especially with such a high concentration of enemies of the Empire in one place. Adrestia might be battered, bruised and on her knees, but it’s still a formidable foe.

Even if Ingrid does not have the authority to represent House Galatea, her father can’t afford to attend. “My request was denied.” 

Marianne grimaces, sympathetically, before giving a good look at her costume. “Who are you going as?”

“Loog, the King of Lions.”

“The founder of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, right?” Ingrid nods. Marianne, from ex-Alliance territory, is understandably not as enamoured of Loog’s character as Ingrid is, but still displays polite interest. “If I may ask…” Marianne taps on her own jawline with a slight blush.

Ingrid feels suddenly embarrassed. “Oh. That’s supposed to be a kiss from the Maiden of Wind.” Should she wash off the rouge? But that would smudge the powder that makes her jawline so sharp and defined. Sigh...

“It’s quite eye catching. Who is your Maiden of Wind?”

The question is innocent enough, but it makes her feel weird all the same. Ashe is coming with her as Kyphon, but that is hardly related.  _ Her  _ Maiden of Wind.  _ Hers _ .

Marianne smiles apologetically. “It’s hardly an appropriate question. Please, don’t mind me.”

It’s a question Ingrid had never considered before. “It gave me something to think about.” Is Ingrid allowed to dream for one night, allowed to have a taste? “Good luck on patrol. Stay sharp.” Ingrid gathers her courage and blows Marianne a kiss.

The other woman blinks twice, stunned, before giggling and waving goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have Twitter, but I've seen many lovely NB/lesbian Ingrid headcanons there! Ingrid content gives me life, so... here's the first half of my take.


End file.
